


I'm Game

by Dresupi



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, All Dogs Love Clint, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Clint is a bartender, Clint owns a bar, Darcy is thirsty, Domestic, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Floor Sex, Fluff, Minor Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, Personal Ads, Rating will go up, Smut, eventual is now, i'm in like with you, kissy face, like is love and we both know it, tattooed Clint Barton, thanksgiving dinner with family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:51:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5247272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/pseuds/Dresupi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy needs a date for her family Thanksgiving dinner to settle a bet, and Clint's personal ad was the one she answered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Appetizer

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration: 
> 
>  
> 
> Special Thanks to Heyfrenchfreudiana for beta reading for me! :D

_I’m a 34 year old bartender with no college education.  I have a van one year older than me painted like Eddie Van Halen’s guitar. I have full sleeve tattoos. I can look anywhere between 28 and 38 years old depending on if I shave.  If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Thanksgiving, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you to torment your family, I’m game._

_I can do these things (at your request):_

_-Start instigative discussions on politics or religion_

_-Propose to you in front of everyone_

_-Pretend to be really drunk (I don’t actually drink, but I used to.  I know the drill)_

_-Start an actual physical fight with a family member, either inside or out on the lawn for the neighbors to see._

_-PDA at your discretion, I’ve had my shots._

_I require no payment except the free meal I will receive as a guest!_

 

Darcy opened the Craigslist app on her phone once more to review the ad for the millionth time, making a mental note to bring up the topic of PDA when he got here.

She sighed audibly.

She really didn’t know what she was thinking.  She should get up and leave this coffee shop before some serial killer showed up to kidnap and/or dismember her. 

But, he had seemed really nice via email…and his picture was cute…

_I bet Hannibal Lector would seem really nice too._

_And that picture could be a catfish._

Then there were those two short phone calls, where he had given her his name. 

Clint Barton. 

She MIGHT have given the name and his place of work to her friend Bucky, the NYPD detective. 

A background check wasn’t against the rules, was it?

It had turned up clean. No murders.  No domestic disputes. Nothing except a divorce almost 10 years prior and a bunch of unpaid parking tickets that Bucky cleared out for him. 

Which, none of that meant anything.  She could be his first victim. 

She was the one that would remain unsolved because he would change his MO for the subsequent murders. 

_Why the fuck am I thinking about this?_

_-Because he looked a little like Jeffrey Dahmer in that pic he sent you._

_Lots of people look like Jeffrey Dahmer. In fact, people who look like Jeffrey Dahmer are probably really careful NOT to become serial killers, simply BECAUSE they look like Jeffrey Dahmer._

She sighed and bounced her leg. 

He probably wasn’t a serial killer. 

But she wouldn’t ever be alone with him.  That would just be something she’d make perfectly clear.

Because she REALLY needed a date for Grandma Lewis’ annual Thanksgiving dinner. 

Well…she only needed the date because of the bet. 

And she was only in a hurry because she had procrastinated.  November had snuck up on her. 

Okay, so it had been almost three months, but who was keeping track? 

The bet only existed because she had taken her sisterly teasing one step too far at the Labor Day barbeque and provoked Ben into action. 

How was SHE supposed to know that Kurt’s absence was a sore spot?  Ben NEVER told her anything! 

Of course, she should have put two and two together.  Her brother was married to his job more than he was his husband.  They were good now, but at the time, Kurt had been PRETTY PISSED, which in turn, made Ben pretty pissed. 

And he usually idled at ‘judgmental prick’. He was even WORSE when he was stressed out or upset. 

But he was being especially spiteful that day and she HAD to retaliate.  In retrospect though, asking if Kurt was ‘trading up’ probably wasn’t the best way to do that. 

But what had happened, HAD HAPPENED, and now she was stuck in a two hundred dollar bet with her criminal defense lawyer brother, who probably made more in a month than she did in six…

Two hundred bucks was chump change to him, but to her, it was groceries for the month.  And if she didn’t have a warm body to sit beside her at that dinner on Thursday, she was going to have to live off of saltine crackers and the memories of Thanksgiving. 

Or, do the unthinkable and ask Ben to forgive the debt. 

No way was that going to happen.

She sipped at her iced chai, even though she was down to just the dredges at the bottom of the cup.  She slurped noisily at the ice before setting it down on the table in front of her. 

“Darcy?”

She turned towards the voice, it belonged to Clint, she supposed. Maybe not, though. Definitely belonged to a man. “Who wants to know?” 

Her eyes widened when she saw him, _Oh holy hell WAS he a man_! 

_-The camera on his phone must be shit._

Because it did NOT do him justice. 

Medium height, muscular, narrow waist, blonde hair, and…two butterfly bandages.  One on his forehead and one over the bridge of his nose. 

“Darcy…Lewis?” he asked again, and she realized she must have been gawking because he looked half uncomfortable, half flattered. 

“Clint…Barton? Mr…Clint Barton?” she stammered for a second before kicking into gear.  She stood and extended her hand, which he took for precisely 0.0468 seconds before releasing it and taking a seat opposite her. 

It was only very brief contact, but she could tell his hands were rough.  And big.  And warm.

_Stop it, Darce.  He’s a potential serial killer.  You can’t lust after serial killers._

_-Well explain the entirety of Dexter, then._

_Knock it off, Lewis.  Be professional._   

He smelled like soap and Old Spice and his hair was wet. 

“Just got out of the shower…” he said apologetically, like THAT was why she was staring. 

It was NOW.  Imagining him in a hot shower wearing nothing but soap bubbles that were slowly washing away…

“I’m…uh…sorry I’m late. I won’t be on Thursday…late,” he chuckled nervously.

He gestured to the seat in front of him.  The seat she’d almost overturned in her zeal to shake his hand for a fraction of a second.  She sat down, her eyes drifting from his face to his arms. 

_Just…fuck…_

His veiny, slightly hairy forearms. Those tattoos. A blonde pinup on the left and what looked like a sparrow carrying a sword on the right.

She was probably drooling.

Did she mention muscular?  Well.  He was. 

She wanted to see all of those tattoos. Where they began and where they ended. If they continued onto his chest and back. 

“Oh, it’s fine…um…did you have those in your picture?” she asked suddenly, her eyes still glued to the forearm porn in front of her.  She stifled the urge to clap her hand over her mouth.    

He reached up to touch the Band-Aid forehead, “Oh…no…those are new.  Thanks to a two hundred pound biker who put his mouth on the beer tap last night…” 

_Yeah…that’s…totally what I meant.  Not your…arms.  Nope.  Totally meant the face wounds._

“Ouch…”

“Well…you should see HIM…” he grinned for a second, but it dropped from his face in an instant.  He shrugged, “I got a few good hits in before his buddy dragged him out…but oh well.  I figure…it might work for our…thing?”  He raised his eyebrows quizzically, and it was so cute that any wariness she may have been feeling went completely out the window.  “Like, I get in a lot of fights or somethin’?”    

She smiled, “Yeah, totally.” 

“Cool…” he nodded, his eyes flitting around the room. “Uh…did you want to ask me anything?”

 _Yes.  Do that.  Ask him something. Except you already KNOW everything from the background check.  DOH._   

“Um…” she blushed.  “I hope you don’t judge me…but…I MIGHT have done a background check on you…” 

He smirked, “Can’t say I blame ya…what’d ya find? Anything interesting?” 

“Not really…had my cop friend clear your parking tickets for you…” 

“For real?” he beamed.  “That’s…thanks!”

 _Okay…that tears it.  He’s fucking adorable.  And I’d like to adorably fuck him._  

“No problem…it was the least I could do after I invaded your privacy…” 

He crossed his arms in front of him, peering at her. 

“What?” she asked, looking around nervously.  “Do I have something in my teeth?” 

He shook his head, “No…just trying to figure you out.” 

She smiled, “Watch out, you might fall down the rabbit hole.” 

He didn’t say anything, so she changed the subject.  “But…um…I mean…if you needed to…run one on me, you can. A background check.  Just…uh…get the low down.  On me.  Or whatever.”  She grabbed the cup in front of her and slurped at the ice again.   

He shrugged, “I’m meeting your extended family on Thursday.  I get the feeling that I’m gonna find out more than I ever wanted to know.” 

“And then some…” she muttered under her breath.

“I mean…if there’s anything I SHOULD know…since I’m supposed to be your boyfriend or whatever…”

And there was that smirk again. 

_Oh, you can be whatever you want, baby._

_-Except he’s probably talking about family stuff.  Stuff you’d tell a boyfriend.  Um…_  

“Okay…well…family stuff first…um…my mom died a while ago…ten years ago…” she trailed off, because that couldn’t be right…but it was. 

“Sorry for your loss,” he pressed his lips together. 

“Thanks…uh…it’s…it’s okay, though.  Long time ago…ten years. And…Dad raised me and my brother…my twin brother…after that.” 

“Twin brother? What’s his name?” 

He pulled a pen out of his pocket and a napkin out of the dispenser on the table, looking expectantly at her.

_He’s gonna take notes.  Wow._

“Oh…you’re gonna…okay…Um…Bennet.  He goes by Ben, though.” 

“Ben…got it…” 

“He’s gay, married to a great guy that he doesn’t deserve…Kurt.” 

“Ben is married to Kurt…”  He scribbled again on the napkin, licking the end of the pen when it stopped working. 

_His tongue.  God. Be still my ovaries…_

She gulped once. “He’s a criminal defense lawyer…Ben, not Kurt.  Kurt is a personal trainer.” 

“Okay…” 

“My Dad…he’s a cop.” 

“NYPD?” 

“No…Upstate.  Albany.” 

“Albany P.D…” More scribbling.  

“Grandma Lewis is a shameless flirt and she WILL pinch your ass, there is nothing you can do about it.”

_Dirty old woman. LUCKY old woman._

He chuckled, “Handsy Grandma…” 

“Four aunts and uncles…Kristen and Terry…Mark and Stephanie…Kristen and Mark are my dad’s siblings.” 

“Okay…” 

“Andrea is Mark and Stephanie’s daughter.  Cousin number one…grade A bitch…Drew and Doug are Kristen and Terry’s sons….cousins two and three…they’re alright IF a tad into sports.” 

“Is that everyone?” 

She nodded, “That’s everyone.” 

“Kay…” he folded the napkin and stuck it and the pen back in his pocket.  “Now…more importantly…tell me about the turkey.” 

She arched an eyebrow.  “It’s a big stupid bird native to North America, Ben Franklin revered it as ‘more respectable’ than a bald eagle, and you can tell its gender by what shape its poo falls in…um…is that enough?”

“Actually, I was—really?  Is that true?” 

“Yeah.  Spirals for a male, ‘j’ shape for the female.” 

“No, I meant…about Ben Franklin.” 

“Oh.  Yeah, that too.”

 _Did you REALLY just school him on turkey poop, Lewis?  Fucking amazing._     

He grinned, “I really just meant the one we’d be eating on Thursday…is it gonna be stuffed or no?” 

“It’s stuffed.” 

He pumped his fist, “Sweet shit.  I’m ready.” 

_PDA!!! Ha, I remembered._

“WAIT…About the PDA…” 

“Oh?  Right…that…” he laughed nervously.  “I mean…you don’t…we don’t…” 

She arched an eyebrow, “Relax, Barton.  Just a couple of things…” 

“Nothing TOO risqué, I hope.  I don’t want your cop father to introduce me to his night stick.” 

They both frowned.  Because damn if that wasn’t the tiniest bit—

“You know what I meant.  No…euphemisms…” he said, rubbing his neck and blushing.  She could cut him some slack.  She’d tried to make conversation about turkey shit. 

“Kay…” she bit her lip, “I need you to kiss me occasionally…smack my butt in front of my dad and my brother…” 

He coughed, “That sounds like a night stick introduction to me…”

She rolled her eyes.  “I’m a big girl.  I’m twenty-five years old, if I want my ‘boyfriend’ to smack my ass, he can.” 

“You’re…you’re twenty-five?”

_?!_

“Yes…is that…bad?” 

His hands flew up in front of him and he crossed his right leg over his left before switching them and bumping the table.  “No, not bad…not bad at all…I mean…” he sighed.  “You’re just…you’re a little younger than I thought you’d be…” 

“Damn.  Freak out a little, why don’t ya?  I’m NOT jailbait.  I can show you some I.D.” 

“No, it’s okay, I believe you…I just…I’m so much older than you…won’t your family…be weirded out by it?” 

“You said in your ad that you can play twenty-eight if you shave…” 

He snorted.  “I’m looking for a free meal, not an ass-kicking, that’s all I’m saying.” 

“My dad won’t kick your ass.  He’d kick mine first.  Then my brother’s, since he’s the reason this is happening.  And you can high-tail it out while he’s doing that.” 

“I just…” 

She fumbled in her purse for her I.D, sliding it across the table.  “I’m twenty-five.  Now get over yourself…Old Man.” 

He snickered quietly, and shifted into a more comfortable position. 

“Kisses…on the lips?  Or…” 

She shrugged, “Lips, neck, stick your face between my boobs, I don’t really care.”  He coughed/choked again and she smirked.  “On the lips is fine.”

 _Lips…my inner thighs…wherever, man._   

“Kisses on the lips, smack you on the ass…anything else?”

She paused in contemplation.  There were a million other things she could think up in her twisted imagination, but none of them were appropriate for public.  Or decent.  Or…legal in some cases.

“Nah, that outta cover it.”  She sipped a little of her melted ice.     

“Okay…I have a few questions for you too…mostly regarding props…” 

_Props?!_

“Say what, now?” she sputtered.  

* * *

 

Clint opened the door to his apartment, slamming his shoulder against it to close it again behind him. 

He’d been having second thoughts about the whole arrangement.

And now, he wasn’t?  That made no sense.

But he had to pretend to be the ‘boyfriend’ of a twenty-five year old.   

He didn’t know how to pull that off, honestly.

Especially since he’d met her in person. 

Her picture didn’t do her justice.  She was all…legs and curves and hell in a pair of tight jeans. 

And she was so…nice.  Just so damn nice. 

And she made him…feel things.  Things that he hadn’t really felt about anyone who wasn’t on Skin-o-max.  And that made him feel like a complete piece of garbage. 

Because she was twenty-five.

And he was thirty-four.  He was nine fucking years older than her. 

And he had to go to her fucking GRANDMA’S house on Thursday and kiss her and goose her and act like he was in a relationship with her…and it was all so wrong. 

She wasn’t perfect by any means.  The fact that he was coming along to save her a neat two-hundred bucks and her pride was proof of that.  Perfect people didn’t have problems like that.  Of course, perfect people had other problems.  Like non-existence.

But she might be pretty damn close to perfect. 

It was a damn shame that she was so young.

He snickered to himself.

_Had her cop friend wipe my parking tickets._

And there were quite a few…

She was…she was aces.  Damn straight.  Aces.

He whistled for Lucky. He was late taking him on his walk. Stayed too long at the coffee shop.  Talking logistics.

He cracked up again, because she was so damn cute…her reaction when he brought up props.

_Relax, Girly.  Not THOSE kinds of props…_

No, just a super long roll of condoms that could fall out of his pocket at any given time. 

And the guitar that he would pull out and play badly. 

And the fedora. 

Full sleeve tatts, rolled up sleeves and a fedora.  He’d be looking like a grade A Douche. 

Which, even though he’d only known her for about a week, he was comfortable enough to say she didn’t deserve. 

With a bark, Lucky bounded over to him, dragging his leash behind him and snagging the stool by the counter on his way.

_Shit…_

The stool came crashing to the ground, Lucky yelped and practically jumped into his arms, knocking him back on the hard floor.  A sharp pain shot up his spine and he leaned backwards against the cabinets.

“Aw, Lucky…no…” he groaned. 

The tan dog licked his face twice in apology for knocking him on his ass.

“Yeah…yeah…I’m okay…you big dummy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Comments? I live for them! :D 
> 
> (And I know, I know...I have four WIPs already...but WAIT, this isn't a WIP! It's already written! I'll be posting every Thursday evening. For FIVE Thursdays! Because there are five chapters. :D)


	2. Main Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving dinner with the Lewis Family. Queue bitchy relatives, too much bad beer, a tiny drunk Pomeranian and Clint and Darcy kissy face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this did not go at all the way I'd planned, it kept doing this...thing. And the more I thought about it, the more I liked what was happening. It works. It's very Clint Barton, I think. ;) 
> 
> Enjoy, and Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers, Happy Thursday to everyone else! (Even though it's still technically Wednesday where I am. Early update...kind of?) 
> 
> Thanks to my beta reader, heyfrenchfreudiana, who is amazing at everything. :D

They’d driven up to Saratoga Springs in his van.  After Clint done his best to convince Darcy on the phone that he wasn’t going to murder her and wear her skin around.  That was what she had said her reservations were.  That kind of oddly specific, Norman Bates/Buffalo Bill type of bullshit. 

And she had her taser out on her lap for the whole ride. Which, whatever.  Chicks had it rough these days, he couldn’t really blame her.  Made him a little nervous though.  He made no sudden movements. 

His fedora was on the dash in front of them and her gaze kept landing on his exposed forearms for some reason.  He figured it was the tattoo.  The pin up.  Not his finest moment, tattooing his ex-wife onto his arm in a haze of beer and whiskey chasers. Bobbi certainly wasn’t thrilled.  Did not convince her to come back.  Go figure. 

It was a three hour drive. Three and a half.  Which wasn’t AS bad as it could have been, even with his travel companion half convinced he was a serial killer and watching every turn he made like a hawk. 

But, she also sang along to his mixed CDs.  Because, yes.  He still had mixed CDs.  Nirvana, Rolling Stones, Van Halen…She flipped through his CD collection with one hand, the other still resting on the taser in her lap.  She ejected the CD from the player, replacing it with Blink-182. 

“Lemme know which exit…” he reminded her. 

“24.  Albany…” she said, replacing the mixed CD in the sleeve.  “About 5 miles.” 

“Kay…” he signaled to change lanes.  “You nervous?” 

She shrugged, “Not really…you?” 

“Well…yeah.  A little.” 

“Well, you don’t know any of them and you won’t ever see them again after today.  So don’t be nervous!” 

He smirked, glancing over at her in the passenger seat.  She looked…well…cute. 

_Cute…is that something I can say?  Can I pull that off?  She’s cute?  Yeah.  Cute._

Cute, but cold.  Temperature-wise.  Not personality-wise.  Unless he counted the weapon on her lap.  That was a little cold. But no, really, she looked chilly.     

“Sorry my heat isn’t working…” he repeated, starting to feel like a broken record. 

“S’okay…that’s what coats are for.”  She tugged hers around her more, pulling her beanie down on her ears.

The rest of the drive consisted of a lot of hurried directions.  “Turn left here, turn right after the tree…no, not that tree…THAT tree…the one we just passed…” 

They came to a screeching halt in front of her Grandma’s house, where he parked his van on the street right in front.  She started to get out, but he stopped her, looking in the mirror to fix his hair.  He’d gelled it that morning, curling the top into some kind of bouffant/pompadour looking thing.  In the spirit of trying to look like he was in his twenties again, he had shaved that morning and was donning a pair of black horned-rim glasses.    

“Sorry…need to…douche up a little,” he explained, messing with his hair. 

She narrowed her eyes in mock scrutiny.  “Really?  You aren’t…you weren’t doing it already?” 

“Funny.  You’re FUNNY.” 

She grinned and opened the car door.  “C’mon.  It’s now or never.” 

He followed suit, getting out of the car and straightening his shirt.  He grabbed his fedora, placing it carefully on his freshly styled hair, jamming his keys in his pocket. 

Darcy was already greeting her family:  A really tall, scary guy that had to be her Dad.  _Cop.  Albany PD_.  Another guy who was a little taller than her, dark hair, same smile.  Her brother.  _Twin. Criminal Defense Lawyer._ Older woman with salt and pepper hair, wearing a trucker cap and pearl earrings.  Her grandmother.  _Butt pincher._ There was the distinct sound of yelling coming from inside the house.  _Football family._

“Are you gonna introduce us to your fella, Darcy?” her grandmother asked, looking Clint up and down like he was a prize winning stallion or something. 

Darcy grinned widely.  “Of course I am…this is—“ 

“Clint,” he interrupted rudely, smirking in her direction.  “Clint Barton…” he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side.  “I’m the boyfriend.”    

She paused momentarily, a little thrown off by the new persona, he’d wager. 

_I warned her._

“Grandma, Clint.  Clint, Grandma Lewis.” 

He reached in to shake her proffered hand.  “Nice to meetcha.”  It was physically painful not to call her “ma’am”. Maybe this was going to be more difficult than he’d expected. It was one thing to talk about doing this and having a good laugh, it was another completely to ACTUALLY be an asshole to real people. 

Her dad was next.  Gripping his hand with vice-like strength, as if this would somehow prove his worthiness of dating Darcy. He kind of held his own. Kind of.

At least he didn’t yank his hand back whilst whimpering in pain. 

“Barton?” her dad barked.  He nodded, remembering to maintain the cocksure attitude in spite of the fact that this guy was fucking terrifying.  Why did her dad have to be a cop?  Why? 

“Yep,” he kept his gaze level, almost challenging this immense man to do something about it. 

_About WHAT? About my last name?_

_-Yes.  It’s Barton and he can fucking deal with it._

_He’s going to destroy you.  Cop.  COP._

The other man nodded.  “Paul Lewis.  You can call me…” He paused, either for effect or because he was actually thinking, “Mr. Lewis…”

“You got it, Paul,” Clint grinned widely before moving on to Ben…to the brother.  He could feel the tension radiating off Paul…Mr. Lewis, though.  Sweat was running down his back.  He was pretty sure his ass was even sweating.  God, that man was intimidating.  Woe be it to the hapless idiot Darcy ends up dating. 

Ben was…interesting.  That was really the only way to accurately describe him.  Really full of himself, really outspoken.  Like a male version of Darcy if Darcy was an asshole.  Well, Darcy COULD be a little bit of an asshole sometimes.  He felt comfortable saying that even though he’d only known her for about a week.  But Ben crossed the threshold regularly, according to Darcy.  He probably lived his life dancing between decent guy and jerk of the month…not that Clint knew HIM personally, but he knew the type.  Loyal when he needed to be, but slippery slimy the rest of the time. He was going to be the most difficult to convince, and unfortunately, he was the one that needed convincing.

Clint shouldn’t really have a vested interest in whether or not Ben believed him or not.  Because as long as he made it to pumpkin pie without getting forcibly removed, he was going home happy.  At least, that’s what he told himself. 

Except…there was Darcy. 

Darcy gummed up the works.  He found himself hoping that Ben bought that the two of them were together, because he didn’t want to disappoint her.  And that was fucking dangerous ground.  He didn’t NEED to care about disappointing her.  She had HER agenda, he had HIS, and never the twain shall meet. 

He followed her into the kitchen. The house was big, but at the same time, it was cozy.  Grandparents’ homes had that way about them.  Something about someone living in one place for that long. Or even if they hadn’t, all the crap a human accumulates in seventy to eighty years on this big rock made a place feel cozy and lived in. 

The kitchen smelled like sage and butter and it made him want to curl up in a corner and never leave.

But, he didn’t.  Had a job to do.  One that went against every single one of his instincts.  Instincts that he honestly hadn’t even pictured becoming a problem.  Because the sad truth was, he wanted these people to like him.  He really did.   

And he pushed down the twinge of sadness that thought invoked and pushed his fedora back on his head a little so it wouldn’t smoosh his hair.  He walked closer to Darcy, who was leaning on the counter.  He leaned down to kiss her lips, but chickened out at the last minute, hitting her cheek instead. 

Her Grandma ‘awwed’ and that wasn’t the reaction Darcy had been looking for.  He could tell by the look she gave him.  The ‘what-the-fuck-are-you-doing’ look. 

“Can you get me a beer, babe?” He grinned broadly, mischievously. Maybe that had saved him. 

Darcy quirked an eyebrow and reached behind him where the fridge was, pulling out a PBR and handing it to him. 

He thumped the top of the can (force of habit), “Thanks, sweetheart.” 

Of course now he had a fucking beer that he didn’t want to drink and he had no idea how to get rid of the stupid thing.  He had to get out on the porch and pour it out or pour it in the sink or something….

He popped it open, and Darcy (bless her) took it from him, chugging a good amount before handing it back.  She burped loudly, causing the bleached blonde entering the kitchen to pull an about face and leave in disgust. 

Must be the bitchy cousin she told him about. 

“Girlfriend tax…” she said, teasing him, her tongue poking out between her teeth when she smiled. 

He snorted, “Took almost half.  Seems about right…”

“What do you do, Clint?” Ben asked, a small smile playing on his face.  Clint had honestly forgotten he was still there.  Apparently not in the living room with the rest of the family. 

“Why do you DO that?” asked someone who was still halfway in the fridge.  When he straightened, Clint guessed he was about 6 feet tall.  And built.  Must be Ben’s husband…his name was…something with a C or a K… “Why does it MATTER what someone does?” he continued. 

“I’m just making conversation, Kurt…” 

_Kurt, right.  Kurt._

Kurt rolled his eyes.  “I apologize for him.  I don’t know how I fell for someone so materialistic…” he held out his hand towards Clint, introducing himself. 

And that’s how the next couple of hours went.  A lot of quick introductions to some genuinely nice people.  Of course, if Grandma Lewis pinched his ass one more time, he was going to have bruises. He wasn’t sure how “nice” she was. Regardless, Clint couldn’t bring himself to be the ass that Darcy was asking him to be.  Not when they were feeding him. 

Eventually, he found himself out on the porch, pouring what was left of his beer into a dog bowl in a last ditch effort to be a douche nozzle.  If he got the dog drunk, that might tip the scales FROM his favor…

He looked around the fenced in yard, not really seeing the dog that Darcy had assured him her Grandma had. 

He was crushing the can and balancing it on the edge of the porch, about to go inside for another, when a jingling sound caught his attention.  He immediately looked down to see the smallest, fluffiest, downright UGLIEST animal he’d ever seen. 

“There’s no way you’re a dog…” he mused as the animal started drinking the beer he’d poured in the dish.  He hoped it wouldn’t get sick.  He was expecting something around Lucky’s size. 

The door banged open and Darcy plopped down on the step beside him. 

“What gives, Barton?” she asked.  “Everyone loves you.  How the hell am I going to explain our ‘break up’ by Christmas? Huh?  You’re going to get me disowned!” 

“Why disowned?” 

“They like you more than they like me!” 

He shrugged, “Sorry…I’m trying.” 

“You are NOT.  You’re being nice and cordial and helpful…and…God.  Perfect.  What the fuck? Can’t you even maul me or something?” 

He was silent for a long moment, not wanting to look at her. He chewed on his bottom lip and the “dog” nuzzled his hand.  He hesitated before petting it.  “Yeah, well…I’m getting this…”dog”, and I use that term VERY loosely…drunk.  That’s gotta win me some points.  Or lose them. Whatever I’m trying to do here.”

She laughed dryly, “He’s an award winning Pomeranian.” 

“None of that means he’s a dog…more like a fancy rat…” 

She huffed.  “Come on, Barton…help me out here…I can’t keep bringing you to all my family functions…” 

He looked up at her then.  Into her clear gray eyes.  “Get back to me after dessert.” 

She swatted his arm.  “Seriously. They’re gonna hate me for breaking up with you.” 

He shrugged, “Sorry.  I honestly never thought I’d ever be too likable…” 

She linked her arm with his, letting her head fall to his shoulder, and he felt kind of warm…even though it was cold outside and he’d left his coat draped over a chair in the kitchen. 

And the warm feeling stayed put for a few seconds until the door behind them opened and he was brought back to the harsh reality that this wasn’t real. She was probably just doing that for show.  For whoever was coming out on the porch. He wasn’t her boyfriend, he was nine years older than her, and a loser.  And she was…just starting her life.  And this was all fake so she could win a stupid bet with her brother. 

Which was of course, who came out on the porch just then. 

“Can I get you to move your…van?” Ben asked, smirking a little.  “Nice.  VAN Halen…Haha…I get it.” 

Clint snickered and stood up, “Where should I move it?” 

“Just in the driveway’s fine.” 

Darcy grabbed him before he left and her hand was on the back of his neck, and her breath was hot on his face, and her lips…her lips were on his and…

Then they weren’t. 

“Be careful,” she said quietly, leaning back like she hadn’t just…hadn’t just…DONE THAT.      

He shrugged and walked over to the van, trying to hide the burning monstrosity that was his face. A quick look in the rear view mirror confirmed his fears:  He was indeed a pleasant shade of lobster.  He wasn’t sure if she was going with the nice cute boyfriend spiel or what now.  She was talking to her brother, looking all snarky and like HER. 

He got out of the van, coming back into the gate, careful not to let the “dog” out that was seemingly despondent now that he’d left its immediate vicinity.  Figures the stupid rat would take a liking to him as well.

* * *

She tapped her foot impatiently, checking her phone for the time. 

_Five fucking minutes, Barton.  What are you doing now?  Changing all of Grandma’s light bulbs?  Helping a cat that’s stuck in a tree?  Refilling everyone’s drinks?_

She sighed.  It wasn’t his fault that nothing was working.  It certainly wasn’t due to a lack of trying. 

He’d gotten Shotsy drunk.  Stupid little fluffy dickhead had it coming.  The dog, not Clint. CLINT actually looked pretty good with that hipster hair.  Anyway, Shotsy had guzzled half a PBR and stumbled into the entryway, barfing right in Andrea’s brand new suede Etoile boots. 

Clint had owned up to it, only to be treated to uproarious laughter from everyone who HADN’T dropped seven hundred bucks on something for Grandma’s ancient pooch to ralph in.  Andrea was not amused. 

He’d then bashed their choice of beer, which was a decidedly dickish move, considering he was drinking it (or pretending to) and hadn’t brought any of his own.  Of course, Darcy had neglected to inform him of Uncle Mark’s windfall, which took the form of a lifetime supply of Pabst Blue Ribbon.  I.E, four cases a month for the rest of his life.  He was about 5 years in and everyone was so sick of the stuff that they couldn’t even GIVE it away. 

So, here she was, waiting for him in Grandma’s hallway, so they could get caught groping each other. The hallway was the only way to get to the bathroom, so SOMEONE would catch them.  And if she wasn’t mistaken, it would be her dad. Never mind that she knew her dad’s bathroom schedule.  That was something she’d rather not own up to, thank you very much. 

It was a last ditch effort.  Otherwise, she was going to have to bring Clint to Christmas to keep everyone off her back about dumping Clint “Mr. Right” Barton. 

It was your classic, ‘Grope-or-pretend-to-date-for-another-holiday’ type of situation.  Because surely, her dad would freak the fuck out if this guy was out here deflowering his daughter. 

Of course, he was about eight years too late on the deflowering…but she didn’t really share all that much of her personal life with her dad.  For all he knew, she was saving it.  She snorted, unable to keep her cool.  God, her BRAIN even rejected that concept.

Clint poked his head into the hall, looking around. 

She grabbed him, pulling him up against her. 

He huffed, his breath smelled like cinnamon. Grandma must be breaking out the cider. “How do we know someone’s going to—“ 

“Someone will. There’s one bathroom, endless horrible beer and nine people watching football on the other side of that door.” 

She yanked him by his collar, pressing her lips against his again. 

God…

He would have to be a good kisser, wouldn’t he? 

His hands were braced on the wall behind her, and the only part of him that was touching her was his mouth. 

_Nope. That’s not going to cut it…_

She slid one hand down his back, pulling his hips towards her.  He shifted, bringing one arm down to her lower back, pressing her close. 

_There we go…almost…_

Darcy reached behind her, pushing his hand down till he was cupping her ass, and she swore she heard him groan a little. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment…” she muttered against his mouth. 

He squeezed hard in response and moved his lips against hers.  The other hand was bracing her back, his hips were pressed against her, not obtrusively, but there.  He made out like a champ.  Even though it was supposed to be fake, she wasn’t really complaining.  10/10 would recommend to a friend.  And then punch said friend in the head because she wasn’t that good of a friend. 

Someone opened the door a little too soon for her liking and when they broke apart, Clint looked like he agreed, if his slightly swollen lips and feverish panting was of any indication. 

Dad cleared his throat uncomfortably.  “Grandma says it’s time to eat.  Whenever you’re through…” 

And that was it. 

She stood there for a second, a little bit stunned.  She glanced over at Clint, who was still holding her.  “You good, or…?” 

His hands dropped and he stepped back, sputtering a little bit. 

Maybe bringing him for Christmas wasn’t such a bad idea.  Mistletoe buddies.  That’s what they’d be.  

She grinned and grabbed his hand, dragging him out to the dinner table, red face and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know he didn't piss off the relatives. But...I felt like this was more Clint Barton? I hope I didn't disappoint you! 
> 
> Comments, please! You guys are AMAZING! 
> 
> (Trying to get my hubby to do a manip for this fic, because dammit, we NEED to see Clint with those sleeve tatts...)


	3. Cleanse Your Palate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so fun to write. 
> 
> I added a few more characters, kind of giving you a glimpse of Clint's bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta, heyfrenchfreudiana, who is amazingly awesome.

Darcy showed up at the bar at just the right time. Must have been a busy weekend by the looks of it.  Black Friday and all.  But it was Saturday now.  Or Sunday, technically. And while she could definitely tell there had been a crowd here earlier, it had thinned to a couple of people here and there.  A man at the bar, two men at a table, another woman reading a book.   

She looked around.  For a hole in the wall, it was actually pretty nice.  It was small.  Narrow.  Dark.  But still cozy, somehow.  The main bar was set almost back into the wall, flanked by two doors.  A kitchen type of setup, most likely.  Which meant there was food. 

She glanced down at the Tupperware container full of Thanksgiving leftovers in her hands and snickered at herself.  God, she was a fat kid at heart. 

She pulled herself up on a barstool and watched Clint at work.  He was wearing a t-shirt.  Purple, no less.  Which looked pretty fantastic on him, if she said so herself. 

“What can I getcha?  We’re tapped out of beer, unless you want something in a bottle…” he turned and grinned when he saw her.  “Heya, Darce…” 

God, he was gorgeous.  She could live with seeing that face more often. Like maybe…tomorrow morning first thing.  Roll over, gaze at that face.    

“I’ll take a date with the bartender, if you’re givin’ em out…” she teased.  Half-teased. 

His face turned bright red and he dropped the cocktail shaker he was holding, “Uh…I-I don’t know about that…” He scrambled to grab it before it fell on the floor. 

“Relax, Barton.  Just dropping off some leftovers…” She held up the container in her hand, waggling it slightly for emphasis.  Damn, if he was gonna get weird about it…

He visibly relaxed, “Oh…thanks?” 

“Yeah…compliments of Grandma…God, my family loved you…and I am two hundred dollars richer…might have to bring you to Christmas…”

His face maintained that red tint and he avoided looking at her.  He was very interested in the cup of toothpicks sitting in front of him.  He stared at them for a long minute before looking up at her and grinning crookedly, “Is there gonna be pie?” 

_Oh thank god…_

“Yeah, totally.  TOTALLY…there’s some pie in here too…” she pushed the Tupperware towards him.

He took it, sliding it over and inspecting the container, finding the piece of tape she’d stuck on the bottom with her address.  He raised his eyebrows, “Your address?” 

“Yeah…you know…so you can return it?” she tilted her head to the side and tossed her hair over her shoulder.  So what if her motives weren’t ENTIRELY selfless?

“Oh…right…yeah…I will.  I’ll give it back, I’ll wash it too…” he added at the end like he was making a checklist for himself more than for her. 

She looked at him with amusement, because either he was really dense or he wasn’t interested. She was going with dense. Because she didn’t thinks he imagined his “interest” when they had kissed in her grandma’s hallway on Thanksgiving.  No sir. She’d felt that “interest” pressing on her hip, felt it in the tip of his tongue when he’d traced her lips lightly with it.  She’d felt it in the hand that was gently groping her ass and in the nip of his teeth on her bottom lip.  

And she knew SHE was definitely interested.  She’d kind of wanted to ride back to the city with him when he left, but she had been going black Friday shopping with Kurt.  Standing plans.  Every year.

But…the idea of ditching Kurt was tempting when Clint had licked his lips and kissed her at the car.  She’d wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her tiptoes and ignoring the bitter chill of the wind because his skin was scorching her.  The thing of it was, no one could even see them under the carport, so she knew she wasn’t imagining things.  If it hadn’t been seventeen degrees, she’d have found a way to let him fuck her against that horrible van of his.  Or inside the van.  Or anything really, because she needed to find out if those tattoos were just on his arms or if they spread across his back or chest. 

The mental image was definitely “interesting”. 

Especially now, when he was wearing that purple t-shirt and she could see more of his arms.  See the details of the blonde pinup on his right forearm, a couple of red roses, a heart with an arrow through it and a banner that read, “No Good News”, as well as lots of blue and black swirls and what looked to be the tail feathers of some kind of bird that was blocked by the t-shirt. 

“Thanks…” she said finally.  “Um…I just…uh…at the risk of sounding really lame…I just wanted to talk about what happened out by your van…and—“ 

“I’m sorry…sorry…I—I shouldn’t have done that…I got caught up…and you shouldn’t have to put up with that…it won’t happen again…if you want, I can refrain from touching you at all…” 

“NO!” she said a little too quickly and he looked surprised.  Flabbergasted, even.  “No, I…I liked…I liked it…and I wanted to talk about the possibility of—“ 

“Darcy…” it was so quiet, she almost didn’t hear it.  She glanced up at him, catching his gaze and the world around them disappeared.  They weren’t standing in the middle of a bar, they weren’t even standing in New York on Thanksgiving weekend, they were standing out in her Grandma’s carport in the bitter cold and he licked his lips and then—

Then he shook his head and the world came crashing back into focus.  “Darcy…I’m…” 

“If you say ‘too old’, so help me…” 

“I’m a loser…” he stated, gesturing around the bar.  “This is it.  I’m not…I’m not what you need.” 

She frowned, “So what?  I’m a loser too…” 

He shook his head, “No…you’re not.  You’re…just starting out and you don’t need my old ass dragging you down…” 

“Who are you to make that decision?  Is this…didn’t you…I thought…” 

“If you were a little older and I’d met you a few years ago…” 

“Lot of ifs in that sentence, Barton…” she snapped. 

“Darcy…” 

“No, you listen.  I don’t care about any of that.  This…” she gestured around the bar, “This is a job.  It’s not your life. And before you SAY it…I know I don’t know you all that well, but I’d like the opportunity to.  But…if you can’t get over yourself and overlook our slight age difference… Fine.  Fuck it.”  She pushed off the bar, turning to leave.  “Don’t bother bringing that back…” she gestured to the Tupperware he still had his fingers closed around.

She turned and stomped her way to the door, cursing him and herself under her breath the whole time. 

* * *

He sighed, looking down at the container in his hand.  He caught a whiff of her scent in the air as she stomped out the door and out of his life. 

“Fuck…” he swore and slung the cocktail mixer behind him in a burst of anger.  It clattered loudly against the coolers behind him. 

“That certainly was stupid of you…” Nat’s know-it-all, holier-than-thou, completely unwelcome arrogant voice sounded from behind the book she was reading.  And he knew, he just KNEW she wasn’t talking about how he threw the cocktail mixer. 

He glared over in her direction, catching the cover of her book instead of her conceited smirk.

“Isn’t your break over?” he asked, bending to pick up the mixer and throwing it in the sink.  “There’s some side work that is just…calling your name. Slicing lemons?  Pina Colada mix? Mopping the floor?  I’m sure the bathrooms are looking pretty rough.” 

Not that she’d do it.  Not until she was good and ready.  Sometimes Clint wasn’t really sure who was the employee and who was the boss here.  Who was the server and who was the owner of this shitty bar…

“Nah.  I have seven minutes left…” she marked her place in the book and stood, sauntering over to the bar stool Darcy had just vacated.  “I’m available for advice, if you want it…ten cents.  The doctor is in.” 

Clint frowned and shook his head, opting instead to re-shelve some of the glassware that Steve had recently sent up front from the dishwasher.  “Didn’t Lucy charge five cents in the Peanuts comics?” 

“Yeah, but that was in the…fifties.  Inflation.  You’re still getting a deal, don’t worry.” 

“I bet…” he scoffed.  “Fine.  Advise me.”

She nodded, pulling her leg up in the seat with her so she was half perching on the stool.  “Barton…you’re an idiot.” 

He rolled his eyes and groaned.  “Thanks.” 

“Not finished.  You’re an idiot…You want to be with her.  You’ve done nothing but talk about her all day.  And then she comes in and practically waves you in, has runway lights leading between her legs, and you turn tail and retreat.” 

“Nat.  You don’t get it.  She’s twenty-five.  She’s too damn young for me.” 

Natasha snorted and shook her head.  “Nine years isn’t that much of a difference.  Not when you’re both well past legal.” 

“It’s not that…it’s the…percentage of time I was alive before she was born.” 

He heard someone clear their throat and turned in the direction of the noise.  Tony, one of his regulars, had left his usual booth and was standing at the bar, raising his hand like he was in school. His almost empty glass was in front of him.  “If I may…weigh in on this subject…” 

“By all means…” Natasha smirked. “We have a resident EXPERT,” she quipped. 

Clint groaned in exasperation.  “Please…no...”  What the fuck did he do to deserve this?  Why the fuck did his clientele and his employees find it necessary to intrude into his life like this?  His mistake was introducing himself.  Once people know your name they get attached. 

“The rule is, you divide your age in half, then add seven to it.  As long as she’s older than that, it’s not creepy.” 

Clint had to think about the math. He frowned in concentration. 

“It’s twenty four, Barton.  God…it’s basic math.  How do you make change if you can’t do basic math?” asked Tony.   

“I can DO basic math, it just takes me a second…plus, I’ve been charging the same price for these drinks for three years, I have all that memorized…”

_Twenty-four.  She’s twenty-five.  Just past the creepy point. Or does this rule make it creepy?  It does.  Fuck.  It’s creepy…_

Clint shook his head, “No…no…I can’t…I’m not…I can’t date a girl that young.” 

Natasha snorted, “Keep calling her a girl and you won’t.” 

“Okay, look.  She’s not that young.  No one is creeped out about this except for you, and dude…as the owner of a fairly successful business of my own…I have to recommend that you raise your drink prices…” Tony said quickly, finishing his rum-less Coke and sliding the glass towards him with a flourish. 

 _Fairly successful…_ Clint thought woefully, as if Stark Industries wasn’t on the Forbes list last year.  The only reason Tony still came here instead of going somewhere more upscale was because he was a creature of habit.  A creature of superstition.  The guy didn’t even drink anymore, just came in every Saturday night for a couple of cokes and Steve’s famous hot wings.  

“Bruce!  Are you done nursing that seltzer?” Stark called back to his table in the back where he always sat with an honest-to-god nuclear physicist and mapped out their latest inventions or whatever. 

Dr. Banner looked up from the napkin he was doodling on and nodded, bringing the still half full seltzer up to the bar.  He slung his bag over his shoulder and stuffed the napkins inside.  He looked unassuming, but Clint knew how that geeky façade fell away once he had a few drinks in him.  An angry drunk, that’s what he was.  But, he was five years sober, with all the AA chips to prove it.  He was also sporting a wedding ring these days.  A nice girl too. _Woman…_ he mentally corrected himself. She’d hired Clint to tend bar at the wedding reception.  Allison?  Alex? 

Natasha smiled fondly at Bruce, “How’s Alice doing, Doc?” 

_Alice…right, Alice._

He looked wide-eyed for split second, like a deer caught in headlights, but his smile quickly spread into a toothy grin, his face turning a light shade of pink.  “She’s…we’re doing great…we’re…uh…we’re…” 

Tony rolled his eyes good-naturedly, “He knocked her up.” 

“Oh!” both Nat and Clint exclaimed in unison. 

“Congratulations!” she patted Bruce’s shoulder. 

“Nice job!” Clint said before realizing how inappropriate it was to say something like that.  “Nice job…with your…inseminat—“

“Bruce…” Natasha interrupted thankfully.  “Bruce, settle an argument.” 

“Sure…” he looked warily from Clint back to her. 

“How much older than Alice are you?” 

He shrugged indifferently, “Ten years.” 

That was news to Clint.  But, he honestly didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before now.  The Doc was no spring chicken and Alice…Alice was definitely a chick. 

“Ten years…” Natasha repeated for emphasis, turning back to Clint.  “And that’s not…creepy, is it?” 

“Not at all.  I mean…Alice and I are…we were in the same place…it clicked.  Her age…my age…doesn’t matter.” 

Natasha grinned smugly at Clint as if to say, _Ten years difference?  And they’re happily married with a brat on the way._

“Fine.  FINE.  I’ll call her or something.” 

Tony slapped too much money on the end of the bar and waved on his way out.  Bruce too. 

Clint yelled out the last call and settled the check of the big dude at the end of the bar, who blotted out his cigar in the end of a mozzarella stick and stiffing him on the tip, stuffing a five into Natasha’s hand instead even though she hadn’t done a damn thing for him. 

She rolled her eyes and jammed the five into Clint’s tip jar.  “You can’t call her or something.  She’s not gonna answer a call from you.  She was pissed when she left this bar.”

He shrugged and walked over to the door, locking it so no one else could come in.  “What do you suggest I do?  You seem to have all the fucking answers, Nat.” 

Steve pushed through the swinging door with a bus pan.  “I think you should just…suck it up and go visit her tomorrow.”  He grimaced at the cigar butt in the mozzarella stick, sliding the plate into the bus pan with a clatter.  “You know…I hate it when people do this.  That’s organic whole milk fresh mozzarella. With panko bread crumbs and my own custom spice blend. That’s no frozen motz stick…” he sighed.  “No respect...” 

“No respect at all…” Natasha quipped in her best Rodney Dangerfield. 

Steve locked eyes with her.  “Hush.” 

Clint turned his attention to the bar, wiping down the surfaces in lieu of watching them eye fuck each other. 

“Say…Barton…” Natasha began, “How about you go to that address she left you?  Rom Com her off her feet?”

He snorted, “You know…if you want me to leave so you guys can fuck each other on the bar, you could just say that…” 

“Okay…Barton…we want you to leave so we can fuck each other on the bar.” 

He rolled his eyes and bent down to retrieve the can of Lysol from under the sink.  “I have a headache,” he said flatly, “I think I’ll leave early…” He untied his apron and patted his pockets to make sure he had his keys and his phone.  Steve slid the container of leftovers down to him as he rounded the bar.  “Use that…before and after…please…” Clint gestured to the Lysol.  “Have fun.” 

“Same to you!” Nat called as he exited the bar. 

* * *

Darcy rinsed out the last glass and set it on the towel beside her sink, glancing at the clock.  3:43 am.  In other words, too late to go to bed, too early to do anything.  She looked around her now immaculate kitchen.  She should take pictures.  It wasn’t ever going to be this clean again.  Until the next time she got hurt, anyway.  Some people were stress cleaners, some were nervous cleaners; Darcy was a depressed cleaner. 

If she was ever in a healthy relationship, she hoped it was with someone who cleaned.  Because if she was happy, she might never clean again.

She was draping the dish towel over the stove handle when she heard the door buzz.  She leaned over to the intercom out of habit, pressing the button before she knew what she was doing.  It could be a fucking drunk or a psycho out there at this hour!

“Who is it?” she asked, trying to keep the waver out of her voice. 

“Umm it’s me…Clint.”

Her mouth twitched upwards against her will.  She took a deep breath, schooling her features so her voice would give away how much she had been hoping he’d show up. 

“What can I do for you?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level and clear.  When she really wanted to just tell him to haul his perfectly sculpted hindquarters up here so she could appreciate them in the way they deserved. 

“Can…can I come up?” 

She held herself back from pressing the button in too much of a hurry.  No need to let on how thirsty she was for that tall, inked and handsome drink of water.

But she did fucking press it. 

It took him a few minutes to get upstairs.  Luckily, it gave her a few minutes to change into something a little more…uncomfortable and a little less…extra-large N’Sync concert t-shirt that she got in the eighth grade. She heard him knock at the door and inspected her new outfit.  Black tank, yoga pants.  No bra, but…she probably wouldn’t need one.  Good.  Sort of sexy, not over-the-top, definitely not embarrassing.

She made her way calmly out to the door, not wanting to answer it out of breath or anything. 

She unlocked it, pulling it open and leaning against the door.

“Hi…” he said awkwardly, running his hand back through his hair.  Fuck, he looked hot in that t-shirt.

“Hi…” she echoed, raising her eyebrows questioningly. 

“So…I wanted to…um…bring back your leftovers…”  She glanced down to his empty hands.  “But I forgot them in the car…” he chuckled faintly, his face reddening.  “So, without that excuse….I guess I’m here to uh…beg forgiveness?”       

“Beg?” she raised an eyebrow incredulously. 

“Yes.  I am willing to beg…if I need to…” 

_Oh Clint…there are many things you need to do…_

“On your knees?” she let her hand drag down the side of the door as she walked closer to him. 

“If that’s where you want me…” his eyes followed her hand and followed her curves as she got closer to him. 

She smirked, “I’m sure there’s SOMETHING you could do while you’re down there…” she reached for him, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him inside, closing the door behind him.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needless to say, next week the rating will go up. ;)
> 
> Just gonna leave this here...
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Source


	4. Just Desserts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be the smut I promised. Raising the rating to E.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed. Oops. Sorry/Not Sorry.

She pulled him into her apartment, shutting the door behind them.  She slid the deadbolt into place and turned to face him just in time to get a mouth full of Clint Barton.  The kiss was sloppy, unrehearsed, and absolutely the hottest thing she’d ever experienced. 

“Hmphmmmm,” she mumbled in surprise, before wrapping her arms around his neck. 

His hands were busy too, constantly moving, as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to yank her clothes off or press her close, so he was often trying to do both.  Pressing her close and clumsily slinking his hand under her tank top, stopping just short of her breasts.  She suppressed the desire to nudge him a little further north.  Or south.  She wasn’t picky. 

He pulled back, his hands sliding down and out from under her tank top, thumbs worrying at her waistband, “Darcy…about earlier…” he caught her gaze, his eyes dark and tempting.  His lips were pink and swollen from the urgency of his kisses. He looked desperate.  Both for her and for...well…   

She stood on her tiptoes, her hands clasping behind his head, trying to shift his focus back to now. 

“You were right.  Completely right…” he continued, blinking a couple of times. Failing to stifle a groan when she licked a long stripe up the column of his throat. 

“Keep saying things like that and you’re golden…”  she murmured against his jaw. His skin felt rough against her lips, scratchy with stubble.

He laughed faintly, the sound no more than an exhale with a little meaning behind it, “One hundred percent right…a Queen in your own RIGHT…mph…” She all but attacked his face, not really wanting him to stop talking, but it was high time that tongue was put to work elsewhere.  He was kind of hot when he was all flustered and horny.  Kind of.  Ha.  He was fucking beautiful…

Speaking of horny, the evidence of that was poking her hip again.  Flashbacks of a few days before, the cold air biting at her face and making their breath visible. Her stomach swooped at the thought of actually getting to DO something about it this time.  Soon.  Relatively soon, if his kisses were of any indication.

He pulled her up on his front; she wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively as his hands gripped her ass. He grunted slightly and hefted her closer before moving, and it struck her as more than slightly funny that he had no clue where they were going. 

He headed through the living room, his lips nipping at her throat along the way, and goddamn, his arms.  He wasn’t fucking around in that bar, apparently.  Because holy shit, he wasn’t even shaking. Both were wrapped around her thighs, and her crotch was level with his waist.    

Now, Darcy wasn’t one of those people whose body issues got in the way of a stuffed crust pizza, mind you.  Not overweight by any sense of the word.  But she wouldn’t call herself lithe.  No way. She was curvy and happy. Supple.  Ample.  Whatever.  She was a little more than a handful.

And he had his hands full of her and almost every one of those curves. She was wrapped around him and he was well on his way to getting to know them all. 

He approached the hallway and stopped walking long enough to ask, “Which door?” 

Darcy was SLIGHTLY preoccupied with his shirt at the moment, trying to pull it up so she could feel as much of his skin as was possible, so she might have waved vaguely down the hall around the same time as she sucked his earlobe into her mouth, nibbling it lightly with her teeth and rejoicing in the way it made him moan and made his steps falter. 

Sue her, alright?  This hot, inked-up, veiny forearmed, blond-haired FOX was about to blow her mind.  Rock her world.  Whatever.  She couldn’t be concerned with much more than the here and now. 

He opened the wrong door, which she realized as he was doing it and corrected him. He turned back with a groan, halting suddenly. Soon, she was landing softly on the floor, halfway into her bedroom, and halfway in the hall. Her bedroom door bounced against the wall as it flew open. She’d have been slightly confused, but honestly the floor made sense.  She wanted him.  He wanted her.  The bed was far.  Floor sex.  He leaned down to kiss her again, straddling her thigh, on all fours on top of her.  “Good enough…” he grunted, finally moving away from her long enough to pull her tank top up and over her head.  Her hair-elastic came with it, and her hair fell free, tousled from both the shirt and gravity. It landed softly, sweeping around her shoulders and head. 

“Darce…” he whispered, almost reverently, reaching down to brush the stray hairs from her face. She grabbed his hand, sucking two of his calloused fingers into her mouth, laving her tongue over the tips of them.  “Fuck…” he moaned when she released them, popping her lips with the loss of suction. His hips bucked a little against her thigh.  He dragged those wet fingers down her chin, down her throat to her collarbone, and further, up over the swell of her breast, leaving a slightly damp trail in the wake before he circled her nipple gently with his fingertips.  His callouses dragged over sensitive flesh and she had an urge to feel them elsewhere.  Somewhere that wouldn’t need any help to produce that wicked slide she was craving.

She bucked up towards him, seeking friction where there was none. He wasn’t close enough, hips still hovering tantalizingly out of reach. “Clint…” She tugged up on his shirt, desperate for more skin.  More of him. Just more.

He pulled the shirt off and over his head, tossing it to the side.  She made grabby hands at him until he scooted forward, smirking a little.  She didn’t really care, she had to get her hands on him. 

She slid her palms over his stomach, feeling the line of coarse hair running down his abdomen into his pants. She went up his chest, around to his shoulders, which WERE covered in tattoos, thank you.  She couldn’t see his back, but she honestly didn’t care, she could look later.

He leaned down to kiss her again, his breath hot in her face as she unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, sliding her hand inside to stroke at him through his jockey shorts. 

“Jesus…” his eyes rolled back in his head as she worked at him through the thin fabric.  He felt…thick enough definitely, she couldn’t get a good gauge of length, but he was at least average.  Probably a little bigger. She ran her thumb up his entire rigid length, sliding in the wet spot where the tip was pressing.  He exhaled sharply, pressing into her hand.     She slid out, tugging on his jeans impatiently. 

He sat back carefully on his knees and pushed them down while she followed suit, tugging her pants down around her ankles and kicking them somewhere into the dark depths of her hallway.    

He let out a raspy breath and she looked up at him, growing impossibly more aroused at the sight of him, illuminated by the light streaming in from the streetlight outside her window. His eyes scanned up and down her body, lingering between her legs. He was gripping his cock, rubbing it slightly, smearing pre-come over the head with his thumb. 

“Do you have a condom?” she asked, praying that he did because she wasn’t sure she had any in her nightstand.

“Yeah…in my wallet…” he groped around in the dark for his jeans. 

Darcy sighed and clapped her hands together twice, turning on the lamp on her dresser. A clapper wasn’t exactly the sexiest of bedroom décor, but fuck if it wasn’t useful. 

He grinned, snickering as he grabbed his jeans, pulling his wallet out of the back pocket and producing a square of blue foil.  “You have a clapper?” he asked, tearing the foil and rolling on the condom.  

She shrugged, “I’m lazy as hell, what can I say?”   She reached for him again, and he immediately leaned forward, let her wrap her legs around his waist again. He rubbed himself through her slick folds, grunting when she bucked against him.  He lined himself up and looked back up to her once more, asking permission.  She answered by sinking her nails into his ass cheeks, pulling him in to the hilt. 

They gasped in unison, his head drooping momentarily before he snapped it up again, his hands sliding down to grasp her hips, taking her with him when he sat back on his heels, rocking his hips forward and back, sliding in and out of her. 

Her hands slid up her stomach, dragging her nails up to her breasts, and she swore Clint’s breath stuttered when she started flicking and rubbing her nipples. 

“Yeah…” he whispered, his thrusting sped up and—

“Ow!” Her head thumped hard against the floor under her. Carpet or no, it kind of smarted.    

“Sorry…” he stopped, dropping her hips and reaching for her head, his hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of it.   

She laughed, grabbing his shoulders for support and pulling herself up first to a seated position and then to her knees.  His hands tightened around her waist and she shuffled forward, seating herself in his lap. 

His hands seemed frozen on her waist, so she reached down between them, taking his hard cock in her hand and angled it towards herself.  She rubbed against it, stimulating her clit before rising up on her knees and sinking back down on him. 

His moan echoed into her empty bedroom, and she leaned forward to kiss him as she began to move.  His breath washed over her face, coffee and something else.  Spicy and tangy.  Vinegar?  Not the best breath, but not the worst either. 

His hands were insistent, pushing her up and pulling her back down as hard as he could, forcing gasps and grunts out of both of them.  She rolled her hips forward slightly so her clit could get in on the action too.    

“Fuck, Darcy…” he swore as her nails dug crescents into his shoulders and biceps. 

She was close, she could feel it, like an itch on her spine, back too far to reach.  His breath came out in puffs, sweat dripped down his temples. She reached down between them to rub at her clit with two fingers, a long “Ooohhh…” escaping when she did.   

She rolled her hips again on instinct, trying to hit some spot inside her, some place that only he could reach. And he must have hit it, because seconds later, she felt her walls clamp down around his cock, and felt wave after wave of delicious burn wash over her.  She gasped his name, over and over, hips still rolling, mimicking that last movement, trying to keep hitting that sweet spot. 

“I’m close…” he blurted, and she found the strength to somehow start fucking him in earnest again.  His heavy breathing through parted lips began to quicken, and she felt his abdominal muscles tense and suddenly release, and he was grunting, pulling her down repeatedly as fast as she could rise.  “Coming…” he whispered, holding her tight against him as his hips pumped up shallowly, working himself through it. 

She collapsed against him, sweaty and two ticks past exhausted.  She dropped her head to his shoulder. “Fuck me…” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his neck. 

“I just did…gimme ten minutes and I’ll do it again…” 

She planted her feet on the ground and slowly rose off him, turning and wobbling over to her unmade bed.  She slid in under the blankets, stretching her sore limbs out between the cool sheets.   

She heard the toilet flush and the sink run for a minute or two before she heard him pad quietly back into the room. And then she felt him plop down gracelessly beside her.

“That position…while fun…is better suited to the bed…” she groaned, reaching for him.  He rolled closer, let her pull the blanket up over them both. 

He chuckled and scooted closer to her.  “Agreed…”

His arms wound around her, his legs tangled with hers in a comfortable way, like they’d been doing this for a long time.  She leaned up to kiss his neck again.  “What made you change your mind?” she asked quietly, no longer thinking about the sex, but about their conversation at the bar earlier. 

“I never changed it about you…I’ve wanted this…since I met you, just about…” he smiled before covering his face with his hand.  “I just…realized that I am a crotchety old fuck and there aren’t that many people willing to put up with me.  Even fewer who are as great as you are...and I want this. Want YOU…”  Her stomach jumped when he said that. “You’re…I really like you…and it’s stupid to not do this because of…” 

“Age.” 

“Right…” he grinned crookedly, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead.  “I just hope I’m not too boring for you…old fuck that I am…” 

“Are you KIDDING?” she propped herself up on one arm.  “These tatts are gonna keep me good and occupied when your dick isn’t…” she trailed her hand up his bicep, grinning at the goosebumps that erupted in her wake.  “I haven’t even seen them all, have I?” 

“I have a couple on my back that you probably haven’t seen…”

She mimed rolling over, which he did, and she sat up on his back, her knees bracketing his hips.  She traced her fingers over the missing pieces of the tattoos she’d already seen, as well as the new ones she was just now getting to see.  The bird on his right shoulder was a hawk.  The roses were actually part of a vine of similar blooms that snaked up his shoulder and splayed over his back.  There was another bird back there.  “What’s—“she started. 

“A mockingbird.  For my ex-wife…you might remember her as the pin up on my forearm…” 

“Oh…” she said, unsure of what else to say.  The busty blonde was his ex? She wasn’t sure how she felt about his ex being there.  All the time.  On his arm.     

He peered up at her, awkwardly from the position he was in.  “I mean…I know it was a dumb move.  Better than having her name on my chest or something, though…right?” 

She shrugged, tracing the bird’s outline with her fingernail.  “It’s your chest.” 

“It was ten years ago…I uh…it wasn’t meant to be.  I was stupid…I mean…really stupid.”  His fingers started absently stroking her thigh. 

“We all make mistakes…Of course, mine aren’t anywhere near as juicy as yours…what with your busty ex-wife on your forearm for all eternity…”  Darcy wasn’t sure why she was being so salty.  It had happened and ended long before she came around.  Damn, she hadn’t even been old enough to drive when it had happened…she’d been fifteen years old for cripes sake.  Jesus, she was being stupid. This had nothing to do with her.    

He snorted.  “I’m serious.  I make STUPID decisions when it comes to tattoos.” 

She leaned forward, sliding her arms under his and letting her head rest on his back.  She pressed a kiss on the mockingbird.  “I don’t care.  They’re a part of you and I like YOU, Barton.  I like you and everything that comes with you.” 

“There’s another one…on my ass…” he said, his tone sounded a little flat. “Another tattoo…”    

“WHAT?” she scooted back so she was sitting on his thighs, and spotted it there on the right cheek.  She’d been expecting another bird, so this kind of threw her.  “What is that?  Is that a…burrito?” 

“It’s a chimichanga.” 

She peered over at him incredulously.  “Why?” 

He laughed.  She felt his muscles jump under her.  “I lost a bet.”

“Some bet…” 

He laughed again and rolled to the side slightly.  Darcy took it as a sign to crawl up to the pillows, face to face.  She lay beside him, searching his eyes.  Those beautiful eyes.  Beautiful lips.  Goddamn, he was gorgeous.  Even with a chimichanga tattooed on his ass.  Especially with a chimichanga tattooed on his ass.  Fuck, that was her favorite one. She kind of wanted to bite it.  Bucket list. 

“I lost a bet, but learned a lesson,” he said, smiling crookedly.  His eyes danced. 

“What lesson is that?” 

“Never.  Ever...let Wade Wilson win at Uno.” 

“Who’s Wade Wilson? You got this because of UNO?” she shoved him playfully.  “I HAVE to meet your friends.” 

“I wouldn’t exactly call Wade a friend.” 

“He picks your ink?  He’s a friend.”

He smiled thoughtfully, draping his arm over her waist.  “You’d wanna…meet my friends, though? The real ones?” 

“Of course…” she blurted. “I’d like to meet your ink pickers too.”    

He leaned over to kiss her, his lips lingering a little longer, pulling at hers.  He tightened his hold on her waist, pulling her close again. 

“One more question…” she managed between kisses. 

“What’s that?” 

“Has it been ten minutes yet?”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was good. I wanted to make it fun, and also not perfect, because let's face it. It's Clint. He knows what he's doing, but sometimes things don't line up, so he has to improvise. 
> 
> Feel free to comment. I'd love to hear what you think. This is my first time writing smut for this pairing. Excited to know what you think!


	5. Leftovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this is kind of a short little epilogue. Tying up a few loose ends. It's not as long as the other chapters, but I kind of wrote it until it felt right? 
> 
> I think I will probably re-visit this particular pairing (in this same universe) in the future, so don't despair. :) I love writing them, and I think this could definitely move into a part II eventually. 
> 
> Especially since I kind of left it open ended at the end? Not a cliffie, but open. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

_Darcy tangled her legs with his, reaching for him and moving closer and closer until he was hard pressed to pick out which limbs were whose.  Clint hummed in satisfaction when she ran her fingers through his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.  She laughed softly and leaned infinitesimally closer to nuzzle his nose with hers and finally press her lips to his. He sighed happily and kissed her back.  Parting his lips and moving his mouth against hers, he slid his arms around her back to hold her there.  She ran her tongue wetly around his lips, inciting a laugh from him.  So she did it again.  And again.  And again.  And soon she was licking all around his lips.  Which was weird.  But, okay, whatever.  He coughed when he caught a whiff of her breath.  Smelled like…stale dog food.  Yuck.  What in the—_

He woke up with a loud snort/cough (a snough?), not to Darcy’s gray eyes gazing into his, but to Lucky’s warm, dark eyes as he licked his face to wake him up.  Clint sputtered, reaching up to instinctively pet his dog’s head before sitting up against the head board to wake up completely.  He heard a laugh beside him and turned to see Darcy stifling a giggle as she held her phone in front of her towards him, possibly snapping pictures, but most likely snapchatting Natasha. He groaned in her general direction and rolled over lay on his stomach.  “Why?” 

“I’m gonna call this story, ‘a boy and his dog: a tale of forbidden love…’” she grinned gleefully as she laid back on the pillows behind her, his t-shirt riding up around her waist.  His hand darted out to tickle the exposed skin.  She guffawed once, scooting away from him.  “No, NO…don’t…” 

He grasped at her, letting his fingertips tickled up her belly towards her ribs, rucking up the shirt even more, “Let’s see, I can let you embarrass me again in front of my employee, OR I could tickle you, which could possibly turn into morning sex…yeah…it’s not really a tough decision…” He succeeded in pulling her closer, lightly dragging his fingers over her skin, pressing his lips to her neck. 

She squealed and struggled half-heartedly, “You were just making out with a dog…no offense, Lucky, but I don’t want your sloppy seconds.” Clint grumbled into her jaw, his teeth teasing the skin there.  He succeeded in raising goosebumps, so he wasn’t completely off his game.  “Plus, Lucky is RIGHT THERE.  You can’t traumatize him by mounting me right in front of him…” 

He stopped what he was doing and looked up at her, “MOUNTING you?” 

She grinned, catching her bottom lip between her teeth and shrugging playfully.  “Just reviewing the minutes of our last coupling…remember?  Last night? We were out in the living room and…” 

He raised his eyebrows, “I thought you liked that.” 

“Didn’t say I didn’t like it.  Said it would be traumatizing to your little fur baby over there.” 

“Lucky?” Clint turned to look at his dog, who had hopped up into the spot he’d recently rolled out of.  “Can you give us some privacy please?  Go to the kitchen?”  Lucky of course, didn’t move a muscle, still staring and lolling his tongue in the same exact way he had been before.  Clint sighed, “Come on…dude…” he pushed at him gently.  “I hope this isn’t payback for that time I pulled you off the collie at the dog park…” No response. “Lucky, come on!  I had no choice. That collie’s human was hitting me with her purse!” 

Darcy scooted up slightly, so she could see the canine that was currently taking up half the bed, “Lucky?  Lucky?  Wanna go for a walk?” she asked excitedly.

The mutt’s ears pricked up at that, and he was off in a flash to look for his leash. 

Clint collapsed back on the bed, “Now I have to actually take him for a walk, Darce.” 

“I’ll do it.  You…try to scrape yourself up off the bed…I’ll put some coffee on for you.” 

He reached for her as she slid her legs over the edge of the mattress and sat up, stretching her arms over her head.  He rested his head on her lap, peering up at her.  “Don’t take him by the butcher’s shop in the morning.  He’ll go nuts.” 

“I know…I should take him around in front of the elementary school and then through the park.  I’ve been here before.  I know the drill.” 

“Wear a coat…”

“No.  I’m going out like this and you can’t stop me…” she gestured to what she was currently wearing:  His shirt and her panties. He smirked while she ran her fingers through his hair.  “Barton, you are a mess…”

“And you…are more of a morning person than I am.” 

She snorted, “Not difficult…” she glanced over towards the door, where the sound of impatiently clicking dog feet could be heard.  “Get off me…Lucky’s ready to go.”

“Can I just…shower and bring my coffee back to bed?” he asked as she stood and found her jeans crumpled on the floor.  She shook them out and started to put them on. 

“For a little while, but…” she hopped a few times to get them on, “I need to run by my place to get clean clothes…AND you have to go ask Nat to tend bar on Christmas Eve so we can go up to my Dad’s. 

He instantly deflated.  “I forgot about that…” 

“Oh hush.  My family already loves you.” 

Clint covered his face with his hands, “Yeah, but now I’m ACTUALLY dating you.  It’s for real this time.  I’m going to do or say something and screw it up.  I am NEVER the guy parents want dating their daughter.” 

“But you’re so GOOD at dating me…” Darcy protested as she searched for something on the floor.  “Can’t find my bra, THAT’S how good you are at dating me.”  She looked up at him and winked.  She pulled something out from under the bed.  His hoodie.  She shrugged and pulled it on over her head.  She walked over to the mirror he had on his bathroom door.  “Can you tell I’m not wearing a bra?  Like…do they look saggy?” 

He scoffed, “Nothing on you sags, Sweetheart.” 

“That is a big fat lie, but I’ll take it…” she smiled warmly at him and he couldn’t help but return it.  “If you find my bra…set it aside, please…it’s black with the—“ 

“Lace demi cups.  I remember it.  Fondly.” _VERY fondly._

“Kay…” she turned to look over at Lucky, who was impatiently waiting, leash in mouth.  She laughed, “I’m ready, just gotta go start coffee…you know how your dad likes coffee…”

Clint rolled over onto his side to watch her go.  Honestly, out of all of the girls he’d brought home, she was the one who got along the best with Lucky.  Not that not being a dog person was a deal-breaker, per se…but like…you kinda had to respect the place Lucky occupied.  Like, he WAS Clint’s family more or less, and not something to “get rid of” when he inevitably got too excited and barked.  And Darcy just kind of…fit.  She recognized Lucky and found a place for herself and this was all so perfect that Clint was just waiting to say or do something to screw it up.  

And yeah.  It had only been a month.  And he wasn’t going to start throwing around the big L word or anything, because it wasn’t like that.  Not yet, anyway.  But, the little l word got used quite a bit.  Like.  Right now, he REALLY liked her.  He liked her for making him coffee.  He liked her for taking Lucky for a walk.  He liked her a LOT for spending the night.  For the way she fit against him.  For putting up with his “aggressive cuddling” as she liked to call it.  He liked how they somehow found a way to spend the night together at least four nights out of seven during the week. And he really liked how she offered to let Lucky sleep over at her place on the nights Clint was there.  Of course, she’d offered to let Lucky sleep over on the nights Clint wasn’t there as well.  And he just…LIKED her.  Liked the way she looked asleep, liked the way she looked without makeup.  With makeup.  In a bad mood.  In a good mood.  Darcy was kind of his favorite person right now.

Sex notwithstanding.  Even though the sex alone was…damn.  

Just. Damn. 

He liked the sex too. 

She knocked quietly on the door frame, pulling him out of his thoughts. She had one of her beanies pulled down over her ears and her coat on over his hoodie.  “Coffee’s perking.  We’re headed out.” 

“Thanks…” he hesitated before continuing, “I like you, Lewis.” 

She smiled crookedly, waggling her eyebrows.  “Like you more, Barton.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, please? They're my crack. <3 Let me know, should I leave it here, or does this pairing/AU deserve a part II? Or a spinoff? (Romanogers foodie!Steve and server!Natasha, anyone?) Or both? 
> 
> Let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://dresupi.tumblr.com)


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